Need and Want are two different things ya nimrod-
by Crazycatscarmen
Summary: Stanley Pines worked his entire life away. Maybe it was time he had a bit of rest. T because of reasons. I just figured out those reasons. Bill Cipher, Stan Pines and angst nadoepajr. I dunno, Self-hate. Because Stan Pines just...isn't allowed to love himself for some reason. Hey, if the angst bothers you, there's a fluffy thing thrown in there. Hot chocolate, etc. LOVE YA'LL, BYE!


**Cat tongues are weird. I stayed up till 2 am and it was great. Sorry if this doesn't make sense. I'm not used to writing such long one-shots. MM {Hey sis!} go to the bottom for notes. **

* * *

Stan was...stuck.

He knew he was stuck. He had been stuck for forty years. Stanley Pines had known his place in life since youth and he was stuck.

He didn't want to be.

Because being stuck where he was? It meant pain. It meant giving and giving and never getting anything back because _that's who he was. _And he was stuck with it.

Not everyone had a role forced on them. Not everyone was stuck. Some people could choose. They could get up and just...decide to change. They could change themselves, or change their careers or even change who they considered worthy of their love.

Stanley Pines never got to choose.

He had tried to choose, once. When he was young. He chose to wander those halls. He chose to keep a secret. He chose to protect himself for once.

He tried to choose, and he was punished for it.

He tried not to choose after that. The streets told him where to go. The people decided who he was. He was a thief. He was a liar. He wandered far and wide and he did precisely what was expected of him.

He didn't want to be bad. He didn't want to believe he was bad. He didn't try to choose again, but he didn't stop hoping. Hoping maybe they would decide that he wasn't bad. That maybe they would let him be good.

...

It was late and Stanley Pines was trying to forget. Forget that he was bad. That he was stuck. Beer cans littered the floor. Not all of them were his. The motel was cheap. Almost as worthless as he was.

Almost.

A knock at the door set his heart pumping, his hands darting toward the nearest weapon. He was drunk but no less dangerous.

Footsteps began fading away from the other side of the door and he approached it suspiciously. The bat he'd found swung loosely from his hand.

A letter. He frowned. How could anyone...?

He clenched his teeth. His brain was too fuzzy for deep thinking. It made his head hurt.

He dropped the bat and picked up the letter, his hands fumbling with it for a moment. His brow furrowed when he realized it wasn't actually a letter.

A postcard? Who would send...

**_PLEASE COME._ **

**_PLEASE COME. _**

**_PLEASE COME. _**

Stan was in the car before he consciously made the decision to leave. Stanford was asking for him.

No.

Not asking, never asking. Stanford didn't ask. No one asked Stanley anything. It was an order. He would go or face the consequences.

Despite himself, a small part of himself wondered- was this a reprieve? Were they finally giving him a chance to be good again? Stanley wasn't sure who "they" were, but he supposed it was a higher power. He wasn't sure what he believed about things like that... All he knew was that he was never in control.

Whatever was out there...it wouldn't let him choose. Did it really matter what it was?

...

He was a moron. He was an _idiot_. Why did he think he could try and argue!? He yelled until his throat grew hoarse, he pounded on the metal until he was bruised. He moved and clawed at those metal panels until the brand on his back stretched enough to break and bleed.

He had tried to choose again. And he had chosen wrong. They had punished him, _again._

The first time, he was forced to leave his brother, his family, _everything_.

Now he was the one who had forced his brother away from him. Now he had lost everything...or had he?

He looked just like his brother, ignoring the lack of extra fingers and the cleft chin. Things people could easily overlook. Knowing Stanford, he probably didn't have many or any close friends. He was in his brother's house...his brother's money...his brother's everything.

He had his brother's life.

As the thought shot through him, so did his lunch. His eyes watered as it all came up. He coughed for a good minute, agitating his already sore throat. He couldn't believe it. It had already made him physically sick to think about.

He didn't have a choice anymore. He never did.

He needed to get his brother back.

...

He did it for thirty more years. He did exactly what they wanted. He didn't do anything for himself, he didn't do anything, anything but work. For three decades, he worked. Slaving over textbooks just like his brother had in high school.

Never original. Never his own person.

He didn't sleep. Sleeping meant guilt. Because it was his fault. Everything was his fault. He had tried to decide for himself. He didn't listen. It was his fault. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't eat. He survived, just like he always had. He didn't _deserve_ anything else.

Maybe...after so long...he'd forgotten that. He got used to the squirming in his gut and the pain in his back. Maybe he thought he deserved more. The universe had sent him two rascals. Part of his family. Were they his reward? For thirty years of obedience? They made him smile, those kids.

Yet it wasn't enough. Not for him. He tried to embrace his twin. Tried to welcome him back home. He tried to reconcile.

He tried to choose himself again. It was small, this time. He tried to ask for affection he didn't deserve. He'd gotten greedy. His punishment then was to make him remember his place.

Stanley Pines was not allowed comfort. Stanley Pines was not allowed to have friends. Stanley Pines was not allowed to feel loved.

Sometimes he wondered why he was allowed the kids. They were good kids. Stanley was bad. He was reminded of that every time his brother refused to look at him. Every time Soos smiled at him. Each and every single time he saw the people he loved.

He didn't deserve them, but oh how he wished he could prove himself worthy of them.

He never got to choose who he loved. Nor was his love divided between them. His heart only grew to accommodate one more person.

One more weapon against him.

...

His world was crumbling around him. Stanford was missing. The twins were missing. He couldn't protect them. He didn't know what was going on. Yet, even so, the townsfolk and even some weird-lookin' animals Stanley had read about in his brother's journals thought he had the answers. They came one by one.

His heart hurt. He was confused. He was tired.

Stanley Pines was tired.

Yet...even as his brother's home was filled with familiar and some less familiar faces, he worked. He kept them fed and safe. He yearned to leave, to find his family. But what would these airheads do without him?

Stanley Pines was not allowed to leave.

...

He was on the verge of bursting into tears when he realized the twins were safe. He trembled with relief. Not that anyone noticed.

He nearly broke. He nearly chose to stop and let himself break down. He wanted to stop. He _needed _to stop.

But they always said no.

_Under no circumstances is Stanley Pines allowed rest._

So he kept going.

And going.

Until he landed here. Stuck, just like always. Although it was a bit less metaphorical this time.

Stan was sitting against the bars of the triangular cage, pulling at his hair. Ford was staring down the hall that Cipher had raced down in his hurry to catch the children. Stan was the first to speak.

"This is all my fault. The kids are gonna die and that flying pizza slice is gonna win and all because I couldn't shake- I couldn't shake your _stupid hand!_" Stan began, his breath picking up speed as he spoke.

Ford turned slowly, rubbing his hand over his face as he did. "Ah, don't blame yourself. Bill was my problem, and mine alone. I should have- should have...Stanley, are you alright!?" Ford's voice was tinged with concern as he finally noticed Stan, who was trembling.

Stan's head jerked up to meet Ford's gaze. He let out a short laugh. "Oh yeah, I'm great. Just p-peachy!"

_Under no circumstances is Stanley Pines allowed comfort. _

He forced himself up off the ground, trying to focus on evening out his breathing. Ford was still watching him, his eyes narrowed in confused concern. "Stanley?" He asked, walking to stand beside Stan, who had barely gotten his hands to stop shaking.

Ford punched his arm, "Heh, don't have a heart attack on me now."

Stan shook his head, rubbing at his arm. "I'm not that old."

_Under no circumstances is Stanley Pines allowed to feel loved. _

Ford huffed, walking away once again.

"Woah, where ya goin'?" Stan asked.

Ford, ever the drama queen, looked toward the halls. "I'm going to give up the only card we have left."

"What? Ford, We're stuck here. What else _is_ there?"

"Me. He wants what's in my mind. If I give him what he wants...he might let the kids go."

Stan stepped up beside his brother and put his hand on Ford's shoulder, forcing Ford to look at him. "_Might!? _I'm a good gambler, but even I don't wanna play these odds!"

"We have no other choice! If it weren't for this ridiculous plate in my head...we might be able to erase him from my mind." Ford jerked out of Stan's grip, "But I _do_ have the plate and I'm the only one who has what Bill wants. There's no more options, Stanley. We're at the end of the line."

Stan stared at his brother as Ford stepped away. He stood with his back to Stanley, his hands folded neatly behind him.

If there was one thing Stanley knew about, it was choices. They were everywhere, each one promising a different future. But knowing you have a choice and figuring out what it is are two different things.

_You know what you have to do. _

Stanley Pines was not allowed to make his own decisions. He obeyed. It's what he did best.

"Ford, I think I know what we need to do."

...

"You realize you won't...be you anymore? Stanley, you'll be more like McGucket than anyone else!"

"It doesn't matter. I'm not letting the world get turned into a bouncy ball for some Dorito chip's amusement." Stan crossed his arms, glaring at Ford with all the authority he could muster.

Ford sobered, nodding after a moment, "If you're sure."

Suddenly, Ford started laughing, the sound almost happy despite the current circumstances. Stan raised a brow, letting his arm's drop. "What?"

"Remember- Remember high school?" Ford snickered, "oh those were the days."

Stan blinked before abruptly being caught in a memory. Ford was begging Stanley to change places with him, so Ford could finish his novel instead of going to Gym. Stan began chuckling with Ford.

He decided not to dwell on the fact that this was the first time they really talked since Ford had told him to leave after the summer.

"Heh, I remember." Stan took a deep breath. "Now hand me your trenchcoat," He grinned at the look of surprise on Ford's face, "It's time to get in character."

...

_"ALRIGHT! TIME'S UP FORDSY! I GOT YOUR PRECIOUS LITTLE FLESHSACKS, AND I THINK I'M GONNA KILL ONE OF THEM NOW, JUST FOR THE HECK OF IT!" _

Cipher raised one house-sized hand, fingers poised to snap at any moment. Ford shouted as loud as he could, almost sounding distressed. "WAIT! I surrender!"

Bill cackled, "I KNEW YOU HAD A BRAIN SOMEWHERE, SIXER."

At the old nickname, Stan rushed forward, intending to do what, no one was sure. Bill snapped his fingers once, making wires shoot up from the ground, holding Stanley down. He didn't stop struggling, however.

"Don't do it, Ford! He'll destroy the _universe! _You know he will!"

Ford didn't look back at his brother. Instead, he just shook his head. "It's the end of the line. I have no choice."

"Grunkle Ford!? GRUNKLE FORD! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?" Dipper cried out. Mabel's throat was being squeezed by Bill's hand, but she managed to squeak out. "nnNO! D-don't do it!"

Ford ignored them. Instead, he took a deep breath, holding out his hand.

"MAYBE YOU'LL GET A RESERVATION IN MY PARTY, AFTER ALL, IQ." Bill was ecstatic, cackling as he dropped both children mercilessly, eagerly grabbing at Ford's hand.

"_Grunkle Ford!_"

...

The kids knew it was pointless to try and "wake up" their grunkle now. Instead, Mabel pointed to Stan, who was struggling with his bonds. "O-over there!" She rasped. Dipper nodded, running toward their other Great-uncle.

He looked up at them, looking relieved. "Children, you're alright."

Mabel and Dipper both stopped short several feet from their Grunkle. Dipper's brow furrowed. "Grunkle...Stan?"

He cleared his throat. "Who else? Now help me get these darn things off! We need to get to St-Stanford."

Mabel was the first to brush away their suspicions and begin pulling at the wires. Dipper seemed confused but joined in.

As soon as their Grunkle was free from his bonds, he darted toward his twin, pulling something out from his coat.

"Wait! Hold up! What's going on!?" Dipper asked, both Mabel and him running after their Grunkle.

They nearly ran into him when he abruptly stopped several feet away from Grunkle Ford. Mabel looked up at Stan, visibly upset and confused. "Grunkle Stan? What's going on?" She asked, her eyes wide.

That's when he took off the fez, pulling out the memory gun. Dipper gasped, "Grunkle Ford!? But then-"

Mabel cried out, "That's Grunkle Stan!" She pointed at Stan, who was dressed as Ford, kneeling on the ground. She looked up at Grunkle Ford, "So what are you-"

The twins watched as Stanford Pines frowned, a single tear running down his cheek.

"I'm sorry."

...

The world is made up of many choices. Some people are wild cards- people who don't matter in the long run and can do what they want, the consequences be darned. Other people, people like you and Stan, we know better. We are the people destined for greatness, and we only have one choice that truly matters.

I think we all know what Stan chose.

...

Stan was...stuck.

He knew he was stuck, but he wasn't sure why. He wasn't physically stuck. He could move and run and go anywhere he wanted. Well, anywhere his family wanted. They were always hovering, concerned he might forget again. He hadn't recalled everything from before the memory wipe, but he did know that they _were _his family. Not just some freaky weirdo's having a laugh.

Yet, something still felt off. He had woken up in a field, wearing a sweater despite the heat, really confused. Then, suddenly, a young girl started pulling at his hand. He wasn't sure what to do when she started calling him by someone else's name.

That's when he realized he didn't even know his own name.

They all explained what had happened, in time. He was a sixty-year-old grumpy guy who liked boats and ice cream, apparently.

He was re-introduced to everyone else too. The girl was his great-niece. The boy was her twin brother, so his great-nephew.

The sad lookin' guy was his own twin brother {a bit hard to believe, but totally cool either way} and some sorta weird scientist.

Then there was the crying dude, Soos, who worked in the shop that he...owned? It was a lot to wrap his head around.

...

It had been a week since he woke up in that field, and that's when he started to really notice a few things...off about himself.

Every time he stretched, the skin on the back of his right shoulder ached, which _could _be explained by old man bones, but it wasn't the bone. It was definitely the skin. That's when he found the rune on his back.

The other's refused to give up too much information, in case it distorted any returning memories he might get. He had already recalled a few small things, like the pig. And the kids. He wasn't sure how he'd forgotten _them_ in the first place! The little rascals.

He also remembered something else, something much more bothersome. He knew it had something to do with his brother, but he was still fuzzy on the details. The one thing he really remembered were the journals. That wasn't really weird, he knew what they were. Stanford and the kids had told them about a few of the main aspects.

Bill Cipher, a portal and the apocalypse that he apparently helped them put an end to? Those were still hard to swallow.

Yet that still wasn't what bothered him.

He needed to be honest with himself.

It was Stanford.

Every time he and his twin were alone, or even in close proximity, Stan felt...weird. His guts twisted painfully and the mark on his shoulder seemed to flare, despite its obvious age. The air between them was tense, always. And no matter how Stan joked {It just felt natural, okay!?} the guy always seemed sad. He knew he needed to figure out why the guy was so upset, why he _felt_ upset, even though nothing was really _wrong._

So he did.

"Hey...uh...Stanford, right?" Stan asked, pulling out a chair so he could sit at the table beside his supposed twin. Stanford was reading, taking notes on a book in the new journal he had made. The number four shined bright when Stanford closed it to pay attention to Stanely.

They all did that. Stopped what they were doing for him. It was a bit uncomfortable.

Stanford looked up, "Yes, that's right." He smiled, but his eyes betrayed the unhappiness the man obviously felt.

"Ha! Knew I had it," Stan fidgeted with his hands, "Uh, well. I'm not gonna beat around the bush on this one, I'm actually here to ask if you're alright."

Stan must've surprised his brother because Ford sat up straighter, his eyes widening with confusion. "What?"

"Uh...yeah. Sorry, um, Stanford, it's just...you always look upset?" Stan shook his head, waving his hand through the air. "It just made me feel weird, I dunno, it's noth-"

Ford grabbed his arm, making Stan cut off his sentence. Stan looked at Ford's hand on his arm and Ford quickly dropped it, clearing his throat.

"I apologize. It's just...you're right."

Stan shifted in his seat, giving Ford his full attention, "I am?"

"Yes," Ford sighed, rubbing his hand over his eyes, "Perhaps we've been too stingy with the information we give you." He looked up, suddenly looking concerned."Not that I don't appreciate how far you've already come! I never expected any of your memories to return, much less what has already."

Stan nodded, "Alright...so what is that ya wanna to tell me?"

Ford took a moment, running his six fingers through his hair. Stan had never really been bothered by Ford's fingers. He supposed he hadn't been pre-amnesia either.

"Stanley." Ford started, "We had several fights. Do you realize this? Do you remember anything about them?" He asked. If Stan didn't know better, he would've said Ford looked even heavier with...concern, maybe?

Stan shrugged, "I mean I guess. I remember the journals. You wanted me to do something with them, but I refused? For some reason?" His brow creased as he thought.

"Precisely. I wanted you to take them away. Or, one of them away. It was part of my plan. I assume you've already found the scar on your back?" Ford's eyes flickered to his shoulder before returning to stare at the wall.

Stan cleared his throat. "Heh, yeah. I was gonna ask about that, but I wasn't sure any of you even knew about it." Stan scratched at his neck. This conversation was definitely taking an unexpected turn.

"Indeed. You received that brand thirty years ago...from me." Ford shrunk in his seat, unwilling or unable to look Stan in the eyes.

Stan just nodded. "Alright. So why?"

Ford glanced at Stan, looking surprised at the low-key reaction. Stan rolled his eyes.

"C'mon, give me a little credit. You look pretty upset about it, so why would I be mad? You've already basically apologized by telling me instead of keeping it a secret." Stan tapped his temple, making Ford flinch, "I wouldn't have known at all if you hadn't just told me."

Ford sat up a little straighter, rapping his fingers on the table. "I suppose." He looked Stan in the eye for a brief moment, "I _am _sorry. For that and _much _more." He looked back at the wall, his fingers still tapping away.

Stan humphed. "Yeah, alright. So what happened, exactly?"

Ford jumped out of his seat as if he couldn't bear sitting still anymore.

"Woah," Stan exclaimed. Ford sent him an apologetic glance.

"So the story starts...no, I should go further back." He began pacing, his hands folded behind his back. "We were kids, only seventeen when we first fought. Now that I've dwelled on it, I realize that it was neither of our faults and the only one truly guilty was our Father." Ford gave Stan a hopeful look. "Feel free to intervene if you recall anything."

Stan grunted his agreement, nodding for Ford to continue.

Ford's small smile dropped away as he started up again, "I had created a perpetual motion machine. It was going to get me into the best college on the entire planet, West Coast tech. I was...excited by the prospect. But in making my own plans, I had forgotten something very important." He glanced at Stan. "I forgot my twin. We had made so many plans as children, went on so many adventures on the beach. It was a sure thing for you, those plans. And for me too, when I was younger."

Stan whispered, his eyes widening, "The boat!"

Ford stopped pacing, smiling at Stan, "Precisely! We worked on it for years. We planned on sailing away...from the bullies, from our father..."

"From math homework," Stan added.

"...to someplace better." Ford finished. "It wasn't a bad plan if I'm being honest. The boat we worked on would never have worked, of course, but if we bought one? Pooled together our collective resources? It would've been perfect. You had a job on the docs, at the time. Someone would've surely given you a discount..." Ford trailed off, obviously having thought about this matter many times already. Stan cleared his throat.

"Ground control to Stanford! I repeat, Ground control to Stanford."

Ford blinked out of his thoughts. "Oh. Where was I?"

"The boat."

"Ah, right." Ford began pacing again, "Well, as a teenager, I was...caught up with my own ambitions." Ford's face was slowly falling back into the tormented look Stan had been so concerned about in the first place. "I wanted more than what, what the sea or even what you could offer."

"Alright, so why did we fight?" Stan prodded. He wasn't in a rush, but he had a feeling Stanford was probably prone to year-long tangents.

Ford continued, "The perpetual motion machine. My pride and...and joy. The day I was to present it, I found it, destroyed. It was only broken by a circuit or two, but when the board members saw it wasn't in working order, I was scratched off their list. No second chances, no redemptions. Just discarded, like a child's broken toy. I was infuriated, of course. I tried to figure out what could have happened. That's when I found out." Ford was about to go on when Stan interrupted.

"It was me, right? I broke it?" He asked.

Ford nodded."You even admitted it to me. You told me that you had been, messing around or some nonsense. I was...crushed, to put it lightly. You say you had tried to-"

"I tried to fix it." Stan finished. His eyes widened. "Smoke was comin' out of it. I was freaked." Stan looked up at Ford, his voice was panicked. "It was moving when I left it, I swear!"

Ford stepped toward Stan to grab both his wrists. Stan blinked up at him.

"Stanley, you need to breathe. I know you didn't mean to break it." Ford said calmly. It was only when Stan nodded that Ford let him go again.

"I'm- I'm okay. What happened after?" Stan asked. He sounded a bit shaken, but otherwise okay.

Ford's brow furrowed. "Do you remember anything? Anything after we fought?" He asked. It pained him to make Stan relive such an upsetting venture, but this chat was forty years overdue and Ford couldn't imagine putting it off any longer.

Stan ran his hand through his hair as he thought. "You-you were mad. I was freaking out-" He took in a sharp gasp. "_Pa._"

Ford nodded. "He was furious. He thought you had ruined my future and I, for many years after, echoed the opinion. I now know our _Pa_ was motivated purely by greed. Nothing made that robot happy." Ford grimaced, as if in pain. "He was a terrible father...and I a terrible brother." Shoulder's slumping, he turned away from Stan again. "He grabbed you by the shirt, just _throwing_ you out into the street! And I- didn't do a single thing." He looked at Stan with all the pain- _guilt. So that's what's been bothering him. -_he had been hiding. "I have no idea what happened to you after you drove away."

Stan held his head in his hands as memories started to resurface, "I was homeless." He looked up at Ford, his voice going an octave deeper, "I was homeless!" He growled, standing up to glare at Ford in the eyes. Ford leaned away, his mouth agape.

Stan noted the horror in Ford's face and backed off. He dusted off his shirt as he sat back down. "Sorry, I just-" Stan choked, "I think you know."

"I _am _sorry. I was homeless for a few years myself, although, I'm not sure they're comparable." Ford decided he was done standing and pulled his chair in to sit once more. He folded his hands on the table. "You were seventeen. I was twenty-eight."

Stan coughed into his fist, "_Twenty-seven. _And I'm more directly responsible for your homelessness, aren't I?" He asked.

Ford looked away. "So you remember then?" He asked, sighing.

"A bit. You wanted me to- leave with the journal. Something happened...I pushed you?" Stan phrased it like a question, his voice quiet.

"Yes, but if all fairness, I threw the first punch." Ford laughed, trying to alleviate the mood, "I was more of an even match to you then."

Stan didn't seem amused, instead, he sunk into his chair. "I pushed you," he mumbled.

Frowning, Ford nodded. "Yes. You did, but don't forget, I punched you, and during our fight, I pushed you into the hot metal that branded you. I was delusional and tired. The plan itself was faulty. You were right when you...you tried to burn it. The journal, that is."

Stan stilled. "I tried to burn it?" He asked. He could feel that knot in his chest tighten further. The feeling made him want to curl up and wither away to nothing. He stared out into space, getting lost in his own mind as the thought swirled within him.

"Stanley!" Ford yelled out, nearly getting out of his chair again.

He jerked up at the force in Ford's voice, "Gah! Give an old man a warning!" He whined, rubbing at his chest.

"What was I supposed to do, Stanley!? you weren't listening to me." Ford's gaze flickered away. "If you want to postpone the rest of the conversation I wouldn't blame you."

Stan sighed, standing up to walk to the counter. Ford watched as Stanley pulled out two mugs from the cupboard and place them on the counter. Stan didn't look up as he spoke.

"Marshmallow's or no?"

Ford snorted, "What?"

Stan laughed a bit as he put the kettle on the stove. "I got rid of the coffee when I learned the twins were coming to stay. Unfortunately, that did nothing to stop Mabel from getting high. Has she introduced you to Mabel Juice yet?"

Ford shook his head when Stan sat again. "No, but I assume it's appropriately volatile and glittery?"

"Are ya kidding me!? I'm not sure it's actually edible. Although she seems to fare pretty well."

"Perhaps the children are more preternatural than I originally perceived."

Stan stared at Ford for a moment, until Ford started shifting under his gaze. "What?"

"You still talk like a nerd."

Ford chuckled, picking up his pen. "Remember that, do you?"

"How could I forget?" Stan followed Ford's hand as Ford began to sketch. Just moving his hand for the sake of moving it. Stan sat closer and laid his head on the table. "Have you always been into drawing?" Stan snickered, "I forget."

Ford gaped at him. Stan raised a brow, "Too soon?"

"Way too soon."

Both of them laughed it away. The air in the room was certainly less tense, compared to before, but not yet perfectly comfortable. Stan watched Ford draw for another minute, both men sitting in silence until the kettle whistled. Stan soon got up, busying himself with making their Cocoa's.

Stan brought the mugs to the table, setting one in front of Ford. He cleared his throat, which caused Ford to look up. "Sorry if I cut our...'talk' short. I just...needed a second, ya know? Wrap my mind around it all."

Ford nodded in understanding, his face settled on a less...sad version of the one he'd donned before. It was more resigned. "It's alright, I understand. I'm not great at...talking things out myself. Pa always saw it as-"

"A weakness?" Stan finished.

"Yes."

They were silent for another moment until Stan piped up.

"I think I'm sick of it." He declared.

Ford raised a brow. "Um. Sick of what, precisely?" He asked.

Stan stirred his drink with one hand, looking off at nothing like Ford had done just minutes before. "Everything I guess."

"You could say that again." Ford huffed.

Stan smirked, "Everything I guess."

Ford facepalmed, "I meant that rhetorically."

"I know." Stan paused to take a drink. "So what now?"

Ford stared at his drink, contemplating. "The children will be departing for California soon. I know you may not recall, but after I returned from the portal- when you brought me back," He gave Stan a small smile before it dropped away again. The theme of tonight, it seemed. "We...talked."

Stan raised a brow, "I have a feeling it wasn't much like our little chat just now, am I right?"

"Dead right. I was...cruel. I never told you, but just as the portal opened, I had my quantum destabilizer aimed right at that infuriating triangle. When you turned on the portal, I was sucked in. It was as if you'd purposely took away my one chance- the thing I had been working toward for _thirty years_ -to defeat him. Logically, I knew you couldn't possibly have known, and, you apparently didn't even know Bill Cipher even existed, at the time." Ford took a drink from his mug.

"I'm not gonna lie, although I'd really like to," Stan grinned at Ford's deadpanned features, "But listening to you talk is like reading a textbook. Sure, it _could_ be interesting, but ya made it boring."

Ford's frown deepened, "Were you even listening to what I was trying to tell you?"

"Well yeah," Stan rolled his eyes, "Sorry, I was teasing. What happened? When we tried to talk, ya know, the first time?"

Ford fidgeted with the mug, pushing it from one side to the other. "I learned you had taken my identity, shaped my cabin and my research into a tourist trap. That, along with missing my chance to destroy Cipher once and for all, pushed me over the edge. I was furious with you. I told you- I told you to leave. After the summer was over. I'm telling you now, just in case you remember and decide to make good on your agreement. I was wrong to ever ask you to leave." Ford laughed once into his Cocoa. "I should make a list of things I'm sorry about, just so we don't lose count." He stated, mostly talking to himself.

Ford looked up suddenly, "You told me to stay away from the children."

Stan's eyebrows shot upward, "What!?" Stan had seen Ford with those kids, and he couldn't imagine telling Ford that he couldn't be around them.

Ford nodded, "I know. It surprised me too. I've just now recalled. As you can probably tell, I didn't exactly stick to my side of the bargain."

Stan shook his head, throwing his hands in the air, "I can't believe that was _part _of the deal!"

At the word 'deal', Ford flinched but listened as Stan continued. "You're family! Sure, we've got problems, _obviously_, but why I would-" Stan cut off, a dawning look of comprehension coming over his features.

Ford smiled sadly. "You're remembering, aren't you?" He asked. Stan hummed in confirmation. "You know, despite the unfortunate events you seem to be recollecting, this is really good progress, Stanley. In fact," Ford ran one of his hands through his hair as he started jotting down notes. "We may have been wrong to withhold information from you from the beginning! " He stood up, rushing from the room with his journal in hand.

Stan watched him leave. Ford was...definitely eccentric. He thought about following him before deciding against it. He would probably be back when he confirmed whatever was brewing in his brain and come to tell Stan about his findings himself. Instead, Stan sat, sipping at his drink as he waited.

It was easier than he had expected, talking to his brother. Especially since 'talking' hadn't been his objective in coming to him in the first place. Stan just wanted Ford to cheer up a bit. Sure, Stan lost his memories, but something told him the problem wouldn't be permanent. He was already remembering a lot, right? Although now that he knew his memories weren't the only reason Ford was upset, he felt a bit better. Maybe it shouldn't have comforted him the way it did, but it's not like anything ever made sense before, so why start now?

Ford, upset over hurting Stan. The thought sounded strange in his head, but it did loosen the knot in his chest somewhat.

"Grunkle Stan?" A small voice asked. Stan recognized it as Mabel's.

"In the kitchen!" He called out, smiling as Mabel rounded the corner. "Hey, kiddo. Whatcha doin' up so late?" He asked, gesturing to the chair where Ford had been sitting moments ago.

"Hey, Grunkle Stan. I just had a nightmare. That's all." She sniffed, petting the head of her stuffed hippo. She looked up, eyeing the hot coco's as she did. "Why are you awake?" She asked.

Stan noticed how she was staring at his drink and got up to make her one. "Just talking to Stanford about...stuff," Stan gestured to the kettle, "Fancy a cuppa?"

He hadn't quite recalled how he used to act around the twins, but he figured as long as he didn't use his sailor's mouth {when everyone found out about that part of him, Stanley included, they were shocked and maybe a bit traumatized} it would be fine.

He must have done alright, because she giggled and nodded, "Yes please!" She clambered onto the chair and placed her stuffed animal beside her.

Stan got another mug from the cupboard. "So a nightmare, eh?" he asked. He wasn't going to prod if she didn't want to talk, but maybe that's why she called for him. He had a strange feeling it was.

"Yeah," She fiddled with the hippo's ear, "Can I tell you about it?" She asked, uncertain. Both kids had been like that, since the memory wipe. It made sense, but it still stung whenever Stan thought about it.

"'Course ya can, kid. What happened?" He topped off her drink with a mountain of marshmallows. She smiled as he handed it to her. _Lucky guess_, a scorning voice whispered. He ignored it, favoring instead to sit and wait for Mabel to speak.

"Weeeell," She stared at the table, picking off mini marshmallows to pop them in her mouth, "It was about Bill." She mumbled.

Stan scowled, hearing the name, "No wonder it was a nightmare." He growled. He softened a bit when he noticed her upset look and changed tactics. "Kid, it's alright. I get nightmare's about that freak all the time. I'm sure Ford does too."

"I do what, exactly?" Ford rounded the corner into the kitchen, hair even more ruffled than usual. His eyes were gleaming with the high of discovery.

Stan could swear to anyone that would listen that his entire family was addicted to at least one thing. It wasn't exactly your usual high providers, but they seemed to do the job. Ford was a good example.

He wasn't sure what he was 'addicted' too, but it wasn't good.

Mabel piped up with a smile, happy to see her other grunkle, "Get nightmares. Hi Grunkle Ford!" She waved vigorously, even though Ford was two feet away.

He laughed, ruffling her hair, "Hello Mabel. Is that why you're up? A nightmare, I mean." Ford smiled, trying to be supportive. Stan was pretty sure it wasn't Ford's strong suit, but he did it alright.

"Yeaaaah. Bill was being mean. Again." She looked down, whispering, "I feel like I should be used to them by now."

Stan and Ford shared a concerned look. Good, at least they were both on the same page.

_For once, _the voice whispered. Stan shook his head, focusing on the task at hand.

Ford kneeled down beside Mabel, "Mabel, it's nearly impossible to 'get used to' dreams. Your amygdalae and thalamus are working together to try and sift through conscious and subconsciouses emotions, memories and thoughts that you've experienced. The only way to get stop being bothered by nightmares are to either accept them...or get used to fear. Which I-" Ford smiled, "Definitely wouldn't suggest."

Stan leaned back, absorbing the information Ford had related. Although Mabel was giggling, laughing at Ford's nerdiness probably, Stan was thinking.

_Could that be it? __Why I always feel so tense? This can't be healthy- _

"Stan?" Ford snapped his fingers in front of Stan's nose. He jumped, pushing Ford's hand away.

"Woah! Did I say something about giving this old guy a warning?" Stan grumbled. Mabel giggled as Ford pouted, folding his arms.

"It's not my fault you keep zoning out, Stanley." He said, both of them glancing at their niece when she couldn't stop laughing. Both men chuckled along with her. Stan wasn't sure why they were so amusing, but he wasn't going to complain. The tension from before was all but gone.

From the room, at least. The knot in his stomach remained where it was. Eased, slightly, but no less present.

Once Mabel managed to stop giggling, she gave them one of her _I know the answer but I'm gonna ask anyway_ looks.

"So what were you guys talking about!?" She asked, no longer bothered by her nightmare, although she never did give up any details about it.

Ford was standing again and started tapping his foot. Stan knew he was probably trying to keep himself from pacing. Ford shot him a glance, silently asking.

_Should we tell her? _Ford asked, glancing at Mabel, who was patiently awaiting an answer.

Stan shrugged. _Why not? _

The twins had both proved themselves more than mature enough anyway. At least, from what he could remember.

"We were talking about a lot, I guess." Stan began. Ford's shoulders slumped with relief, he really wasn't good at the touchy-feely stuff. Neither was Stan, but out of the two of them, even with half his life erased from his mind, Stan was still better at it.

Mabel cocked her head to the side, "Like what?" She asked, her wide innocent eyes unblinking.

"Weeeell," Stan mimicked, making Mabel laugh again, "We talked about boats and Mabel juice and old boxing matches-" Stan knew that one was a stretch, but he wasn't ready to let go of the good feeling Mabel had helped bring into the room. "-and...I think Ford has something to help my memory?" He shot Ford a hopeful look.

Ford clapped his hands together, his eyes shining, "Yes!" He moved to sit at the other end of the table, setting down his journal with a thump. He looked to Mabel, "Remember when I told you to tell Stan as little as possible, to avoid distortion of any returning memories?"

She bounced in her seat, eyes wide, "Yeah! You didn't want to confuse Grunkle Stan!" At his name, she turned to smile at him. He winked at her.

He wasn't sure _why_ he did. But it seemed to make her happy. Maybe that was something old Stanley did a lot. It did feel familiar.

Ford pushed onward, finding the page he had been scribbling on before. He held it up, "We were talking and Stan started to remember!" He moved his gaze from Mabel to Stan, "How much _have _you remembered, precisely?"

Stan rubbed at his eyes. If he was being honest, he was getting tired. It _was_ pretty late at night. "I dunno, a lot." He tried to organize the blurry pictures in his mind. "I remembered the boat and most of our fights-" Stan cut himself off suddenly, his face grim.

Ford and Mabel both leaned closer.

"Stanley?"

"Grunkle Stan?" They asked, both concerned. Stan looked up, his eyes gaze dead serious.

Ford tapped his pen on the table, "Have you remembered something else?" He asked.

Stan nodded, "I remember..." He suddenly burst into a grin,"_ You on Prom night!"_ He declared. Mabel burst out in laughter, gasping for breath. The tension Stan had purposely placed there was gone again.

Ford groaned, running a hand down his face. "I knew helping you get your memories back was a bad idea!" He whined, "You better not tell-"

"He _totally _tried to flirt! _With science puns_." Stan wiggled his fingers as if science puns were something to be afraid of. Mabel was on the floor now, unable to sit up as her laughter shook her entire frame, keeping her from really breathing.

Ford buried his face in his hands as Stan continued, "You should have seen him dancing-"

"Alright! That's enough!" Ford cut Stan off, standing to pick Mabel off the ground. She clung to his sweater, laughing into the fabric.

"That's- that's so cute Grunkle Ford!" She squealed, tears falling from her eyes with the force of her mirth.

His face was slowly turning red. "Um, thank you, Mabel," Ford stated, glaring at Stan as he hugged his great-niece.

Stan stuck out his tongue, completely unapologetic.

Mabel took another moment to calm down. Once she had she gave both her Grunkle's a proper goodnight. She waved as she ran out of the kitchen.

"Thanks, Grunkle Ford! Thanks, Grunkle Stan!" she called out.

Ford and Stan watched her leave with the same wistful look. She had been a welcome distraction.

The silence ended and Ford turned back to Stan.

He glared. "I can't believe you told her about prom," Ford whined, "She'll never let me live it down now!"

Stan snorted, "How could I _not_ tell her? Besides, the memory just sorta..." He made an explosion with his fingers, "...popped outta nowhere."

"Really?" Ford rubbed at his jaw as he thought, "Can you remember what you were thinking of, right before the recollection came to you?" He asked, pulling his journal toward him.

Stan hummed, thinking. "I was telling Mabel what we were talking about earlier...then I remembered about the first fight we had...then I remembered someone throwing punch all over you," He grinned at Ford, who coughed and looked away.

"And after that?" Ford's pen was hovering over the paper, ready to write at a second's noticed.

"Well, then the rest just sorta...came. I guess. It's still kinda fuzzy, but it's an old memory, right? That's probably normal..." Stan trailed off, looking for confirmation.

Ford nodded, smiling reassuringly. "Of course. You say it just...came?"

"Yeah," Stan rubbed at his neck, "What does that mess up your...discovery or whatever?" He asked. He really didn't want to dim Stanford's excitement. Stan hadn't seen him so happy since he first remembered Stanford's name.

"No, actually, this makes my hypothesis all the more stable!" He exclaimed. He was grinning as he started writing, hurriedly. "We each new bit of information you receive, your mind brings forth a correlating memory along with it! Admittedly, prom is somewhat random, but there has to be a connection." Ford pointed to Stan with his pen, "You probably have a thought or emotion that can connect both our fighting_ and_ what happened prom night."

Stan thought as Ford continued to write, muttering nonsense under his breath. They sat like this for two minutes, the room quiet from everything but the scratches of pen on paper. It didn't take long before Stan yawned.

He stretched, stiff from sitting for so long. Ford didn't notice, absorbed with his writing. Stan smiled, this seemed more comfortable. More...familiar. He gritted his teeth as yet another memory returned, bringing a pang of pain through his head along with it.

_Stanford was at his desk, reading two textbooks at once. Well, technically, they shared the desk but Stan rarely used it, preferring to keep his work to a bare minimum. Every few minutes or so, Ford would note something he found useful and jot it down in one of the two notebooks that sat on either side of him. Not many knew it, but Ford was ambidextrous. It wasn't exactly a secret, per se, but he didn't really tell people about it regardless. There was no knowing how many new insults their enemies would create with that information. _

_Stan was on the bed, reading. It wasn't something he did often, but when he __did read, no one knew. Even Stanford seemed mostly unaware. _

_It just wasn't something Stan wanted anyone to know about. Although, it was less about teasing {He was called an idiot too many times to really care} and more about upholding his reputation. _

_Stan was the muscle. He always knew that. Ford was just too smart to compete with. _

_So he didn't. _

_Instead, he worked out, flirted with chicks, stood up when everyone else wouldn't. He was the protector, the bodyguard. He didn't really mind, it wasn't a bad gig. Ford would help him keep up with his school work, then Stan would help him skive off Gym, or keep him safe when others got a little too physical with their blows. _

_Everyone thinking Stan was a big, tough guy was the only thing that kept Ford safe. Hence why he read alone. If word got out he enjoyed the same nerdy stuff his brother indulged in, they would see him for what he really was- a liar. _

_He turned the page of his book, looking back at his brother. Ford was deeply immersed in his calculus textbook, stopping to write down equations for only a second. Stan turned back to his book. He listened to the scratching of pencil on paper and smiled. _

_Everything was just how it should be. _

Stan rubbed at his head as the memory faded, bringing a wave of emotions along with it. The memory...unsettled him. He just wasn't sure why.

_Everything was just how it should be. _

He glanced at Ford, who was completely unaware of what had just happened, in the same position he had been in moments ago. Stan noticed it was the same one in the memory, his back hunched over the table with a hand in his hair as he wrote. Some things never changed.

Stan frowned. Some things never changed. He could still _feel_ the emotions from the memory. The way he had felt years and years ago, sitting on his old bed, in his old room. And yet, even as the emotions had completely overtaken him, that knot, the one that he thought was fear, was still there. Trapped inside his chest.

He had to wonder...did he always feel this way? Living life with this feeling? He couldn't have always had it- because he could imagine what it felt like when it was gone.

It hadn't been there when he'd woken up, surrounded by trees.

Stan shook away the notion, deciding it wasn't important enough to worry about any longer.

_Just like you. _The voice quipped.

_Shut up. Just shut up. _Stan told...himself? Was he going insane?

He rubbed at his eyes. He was just tired, that was all. It was nearly three a.m. They needed to get to bed.

"Stanford?" Stan finally moved, putting one hand on his brother's shoulder. Ford blinked up at him, barely out of his trance.

"Hm?"

"I think it's time we hit the hay, don't you?" Stan pulled Ford out of his seat, leaving the journal and the book from before on the table.

Ford frowned, "What about your memories? Our talk?" He mumbled, obviously still inside his own head.

Stan grunted, "We can worry about that tomorrow, alright? Now, where do you sleep again?" Stan asked, unsure where to lead his brother.

_His_ brother. After everything that had happened that night, the term felt more...real.

Ford just started walking without saying anything, pulling Stan along. When they reached the basement door- _Why is it behind the vending machine again? -_Stan made them stop.

"Wait, you sleep down there!? Isn't it freezing down there!?" Stan asked.

At the concern in Stan's voice, Ford finally seemed to snap out of it. "What? Yes, of course. I mean- it's alright. I prefer it down there." Ford shook Stan's hand off his arm and started punching in the code.

"I suggest you go to your own bedroom now Stanley." Ford remarked before he started patting at his pockets, "Where did my- ah there it is." Ford brought out something that had the smallest resemblance to a flashlight. He raised a brow at Stan's confused look, "What?" he asked, pulling the vending machine away from the wall.

Stan wasn't sure what to say, "Um. Goodnight, Stanford." He blurted out, unsure what else to say.

Ford nodded, "Goodnight, Stanley." Ford started down the dark steps, the door closing behind him.

Stan stood in front of the door for a moment, his mind blank. He raised his hand to knock on the door, only to realize it wasn't actually a door- and Ford wouldn't be able to hear it anyway. He shoved his hands into his pockets, walking back to his own bedroom. He had a lot of thinking to do.

He lied in bed, staring at the ceiling. There was a lot Stanley Pines didn't know about himself. Yet, with what he had already learned, he knew two things.

Number one. Stanley Pines is good. Although something kept trying to tell him otherwise, he knew it, and so did everybody else. Stanley Pines is and will always be a good man.

Number two. Stanley Pines never gives up.

He was scared, confused and maybe a little bit crazy- but Stanley Pines would always keep going. Whether they wanted him to or not. He wasn't sure who 'they' were- everyone here seemed to love him -but 'they' existed, and Stanley pines was sick of it. 'They' would either have to concede and let Stanley Pines be happy or fight him and fail because Stanley Pines was done. He had given all he had to give.

He was done. Stan smiled as he closed his eyes. He wasn't sure why the thought brought him so much peace- but it did. The knot in his chest loosened and he quickly fell asleep.

As Stanley finally rested, a light began to glow, shrouding him entirely.

...

_She nodded, her six eyes blinking in unison. As Stanely Pines fell asleep, she walked to a wall, the wall of Necessaries. _

_On the wall was a mark, one of many. She placed her hand over the rune, watching as it glowed red. She closed her eyes. _

_"No longer is Stanley Pines Necessary. No longer is Stanley Pines to be kept from comfort. No longer is Stanley Pines to be kept from rest. No longer is Stanley Pines to be kept from being loved." _

_She opened her eyes to find that the mark had faded away. She turned to the wall opposite with a small smile. _

_"Stanley Pines is to be hailed hero. He has done his part." She spoke. As she did, the rune reappeared on the wall she was staring at. It had less on it than the wall of Necessaries. It was the wall of Heroes. _

_The six-eyed women smiled. Out of all the heroes, Stanley Pines was one of her favorites. His rune appeared on the wall many times, from many different versions of him scattered across the multi-verse. _

_It was a sad day when any version of Stanley Pines gave up. She turned away from the wall. _

_Fortunately for their universe, Stanley Pines had pulled through once more.  
_

* * *

**JOEJOJEOIFJMWORMJEIOWJF HOLY STUFFINGS I'M FINALLY DONE. And just under Ten thousand words too! D: LIke WoAH! BLargh sorry if none of this maejacfmj makes sense. Btw the "she" is Jheselbraum. Idk man I wasn't sure how to end it. This is the first time she's showed up in one of my stories...I think...**

**Stan: Hey! What I miss? *Comes in eating a plate of spaghetti* **

**Ford and Fidds in unison: *Hides the laptop behind their backs* NOTHING! **

**Stan: Huh. *squints* *Screams of pineapples permeate the air* Whatever you say, nerds. **

**For MM: HEY SIS! KJFOIjaoimjfaoiwejfie j I was definitely dead kinda. But I've had a rebound back into writing! MWHAHHAHAH. It's great. I feel fine. It's not like I worked on this for almost ten hours straight hehehe...I didn't say anything. **

**Hey, congrats on speaking in only Gravity Falls quotes! Kinda jealous I didn't get to see that...that sounds frickin hilarious. LIke BRuH and that story you sent!? I SCREAMING I'M IN LOVE EVERYONE GO READ IT. IT'S GREAT. KJfojaof awjjfewa Stupid bullies hurting poor Ally. jeaoemjriaejfi I"m key smashing so much I'm sorry I've just a lot of energy rn I just finsihed writing so muc andjeajeifjaoejf I can't stop! I should go eat- But love ya sis! Thanks for not giving up on me! **

**EVERYONE I HOPED YOU LIKE THIS SORRY I MADE THIS INSTEAD OF UPDATING THE OTHER THING WHOOPSIES. I'm also not gonna edit this- I'm just too tired. **

**Ford: So why not edit it later? **

**Stan: Because she's done! Why wait when no one's gonna care anyway? Hey! What's this story about anyway? **

**Fiddleford: *Ignoring Stan's question* Well...someone migh' care... **

**Stan *Snorts* : Yeah, you two nerds maybe. **

**IF you've read to the bottom of this- I congratulate you. If yah review I'll mayyyyyybe update something...maybe one of my older stories *wink wink* **


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